Too Young to Die
by Panabelle
Summary: Trunks, scared? What the heck can have him so terrified? No, not Vegeta--Gohan.


A/N: Hello happy people! Panabelle here, requesting that you READ AND REVIEW!   
I'd also like to let you know that this is my first fic EVER, and that I would   
very much appreciate it if you be gentle on me, and don't flame me if you don't   
like it. Constructive Criticism is one thing, blatant slander is another. I   
won't keep you much longer here, I rather you read my story then my ramblings,   
so get on with it already....oh yeah, and please review!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own DB anything. All I own is the 100's of dollars worth of   
useless junk that I'm addicted to buying, so if you have a problem with me   
writing this with the use of DB something characters, just remember that I help   
pay your electric bill. Thank you.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Too Young to Die  
  
Gohan was going to kill him.  
  
Sweet, understanding, rational Gohan, was going to beat him into a bloody pulp.  
  
Trunks sighed and looked down at the girl in his arms.  
  
No, not girl-woman. She was a woman now.  
  
She'd finally grown up, but at the same time, she hadn't matured at all. She'd   
graduated from baggy pants and tee shirts to designer jeans and camisoles.   
Moved on from 'dress' just being a dirty word and something one did every   
morning, to being something acceptable, something comfortable. She'd let her   
hair grow out, once shoulder-length, it now spilled over her shoulders in a   
beautiful cascade of blackest night, soft and gleaming in the moonlit darkness.  
  
But despite the sophisticated and mature image, it wasn't a total change of   
heart. Her sneakers, though not trashed, were obviously at the comfortable   
point between slightly-used-but-still-acceptable, and I-can-see-your-socks. Her   
skirt was sporty and flirtatious, but lost the effect to the oversized jacket   
that concealed her small frame. And, of course, her signature accessory was   
still there: the orange bandana, worn tied over her black hair. The same orange   
bandana she'd worn since almost forever-ago, everyday, no matter the occasion,   
since she'd been given it.  
  
Trunks sighed, rubbing his forehead, upsetting his lavender hair.  
  
Gohan was going to kill him.  
  
Pan had been out of country, across the Pacific Ocean in fact, at college, for   
nearly four years, and hadn't been home once in all that time. It had left   
Trunks with four years with no way to escape his dreaded office or his hated   
job, four years of missing one of his best friends, four years to reconnect with   
Goten.  
  
Four years to realize that he was head over heels in love with her, and that-  
wrong as it was-he couldn't imagine himself with anyone but her.  
  
Trunks whimpered softly to himself, terror-stricken at what was going to happen   
to him in less then three hours.  
  
He glanced back down at Pan, at her sleeping face, her deep, midnight blue eyes,   
complete with stars, closed to the world; her face snuggled into his chest, one   
hand under his shoulder, the other gently clutching his wrinkled dress shirt.  
  
Gohan was going to beat him beyond the help of sensu bean, regeneration tank,   
and dragonballs.  
  
Trunks had only meant for it to be a dinner between friends, a time for them to   
really catch up, without the burden of parents to wonder about his attitude and   
her antics.  
  
It hadn't turned out that way.  
  
When he'd picked her up at six that evening, he was immediately taken by the   
fact that no matter how tom-boyish she still was, she was still a shockingly,   
breathtakingly, stunningly, make-your-heart-stop-and-make-you-think-of-not-so-  
kosher-things-to-do, beautiful 21 year old woman.  
  
She'd been in the living room, talking to Gohan, her skirt a short little black   
number with buttons up the front, and a useless little cargo pocket just to the   
right of the buttons, right above the hem, which rested two or three inches   
above her knees. Her light blue blouse was neatly pressed, but the sleeves were   
rolled up to just above the crook in her elbows, the front tied in a little knot   
that gave a tantalizing view of her belly button.  
  
She looked absolutely gorgeous in that outfit-and Trunks wouldn't mind helping   
her out of it. But he'd kept that opinion to himself.  
  
She'd laughed when she'd noticed him standing there, open-mouthed and gaping   
like a fish, and she'd tied her bandana on over her hair. Her father had   
laughed too, saying that he still thought that his Pan, the real one that had   
left for college four years ago, had been abducted by aliens, and that this Pan   
was a clone sent to destroy them all. Which was really ironic and funny when   
looked at from their point of view.  
  
Gohan wouldn't be laughing so good-naturedly in a few hours. Oh, he'd be   
laughing alright, but it'd be one of those morbidly sick laughs (one worthy only   
of Vegeta), and Gohan would be breaking every bone in his body.  
  
Thus, the laughter.  
  
Gohan told him to have her home by midnight, and Pan had laughed almost bitterly   
at her father's protectiveness.  
  
"Daddy, it's just Tr-unks, he'd not going to date rape me or anything!" she'd   
argued, apalled, as she'd shrugged on her jacket. Trunks had finally been able   
to recollect his thoughts as the jacket sleeves covered her toned arms, and as   
her words registered in his head, he blushed crimson.  
  
Gohan had only laughed. "I know Panny, it's more or less what everyone else you   
come across will want to do."  
  
Her deep midnight blue eyes had narrowed to tiny slits as she pouted. "Daddy,   
I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, Trunks'll protect me   
from the big bad bogeymen."  
  
Gohan had laughed again, defeatedly, but still amused. "Alright. But you be   
home by three, you hear?" Gohan knew that Trunks was trustworthy and   
responsible. He'd known Trunks all of his life-there was only a twelve year age   
difference between father and best friend. Gohan knew that Pan would be in   
capable hands.  
  
Trunks swallowed thickly as Pan's fingers tightened into a fist, and then   
relaxed. He didn't relax though.  
  
Dinner had gone smoothly. As they'd explored the buffet bar, he'd told her   
about Vegeta's failed attempt at anger management, and she'd told him about her   
roommate with the odd eleven pm habits.  
  
"Seriously! She'd sit there for an hour, every night, and just make up stop-go   
animations! But they were weird." Here, her face had crinkled up like a   
child's, and she'd laughed girlishly. "My favorite was 'The Revenge of PanKake   
Girl!' Basically, she's smothered old Barbies and GI Joes she stole from her   
brother in pancake batter, and fried them up," she'd whispered conspiratorially   
as she'd filled a plate with mashed potatoes. He had laughed, thanking Dende   
that he had enough cash to pay for dinner-how couldn't he?  
  
Over the course of 13 plates each (including 2 desserts), they'd caught up on   
four years as if discussing the events of that day alone. It'd been one of the   
most enjoyable times he'd had since baby-sitting her, since the hunt for the   
black star dragonballs.  
  
Even despite their life-time banning from the all-you-can-eat buffet downtown.  
Or maybe, in spite of it.  
  
Afterwards, she'd wanted to spar, her rough-and-tumble, I-am-more-manly-than-  
thou attitude glaringly beautiful in the body she possessed. And as much as   
he'd wanted to, Trunks had turned her down, saying that he'd prefer to keep the   
country in tact.  
  
"Why bother?" she'd asked. "Even though we don't have the dragonballs anymore,   
if we completely destroy it, you can always buy another one. I hear Cuba's a   
quaint little island."  
  
He hadn't asked about what she'd meant by Cuba being a nice island, he'd been   
too busy getting her into a headlock.  
  
On a whim, they'd decided and agreed to go to the beach; and in all actuality,   
they were still at the beach. He'd have to wake her up in another hour if he   
wanted to get her home on time.  
  
Gohan was going to blast him until Cell's remains outnumbered his own.  
Sweet Dende, he was scared. He'd never been more scared in his life. He'd been   
fighting since before he could remember, had helped defeat Majin Buu, had grown   
up as Vegeta's son, been in more life-threatening battles then he had brain   
cells, and yet here he was, stone cold and sweaty palmed terrified about what   
Gohan was going to do to him.  
  
Pan sighed quietly and nuzzled up against him in the little bed they'd made at   
the base of one of the dunes. They'd been lying there for quite a while, but   
she'd only been asleep for about half an hour.  
  
He sighed restlessly, wishing he had taken her up on that sparring offer.  
At least then he'd already have the living daylights beaten out of him and Gohan   
wouldn't have a fresh victim to destroy and take apart.  
  
But no. They'd gone to the beach and walked barefoot in the surf for a little   
while until Pan suggested they sit down, and so they'd walked a few meters from   
the tide line and laid back a respectable distance from each other at the base   
of a dune, staring up at the stars, laughing like kids as they made up their own   
constellations.  
  
"Do you see that star right up there, the really bright one surrounded by a lot   
of really close bright ones that seem to dim in comparison?" she'd whispered   
quietly after a they'd been quiet for a while.  
  
"Yeah," he'd replied, looking at the star but watching her out of the corner of   
his eyes. "What about it?"  
  
"Well, I know that he's gone and all...but I've been thinking lately that that   
star is Grandpa Goku."  
  
She'd been quiet, letting him see a side of her that she usually preferred to   
keep buried within a safe maze of walls and shields. She was letting him see   
right into her soul, letting him see the pain left by her grandfather's   
disappearance, and it had been all he could stand to keep from collecting her in   
his arms at that moment. He'd sat up instead though, scooping up a handful of   
sand and letting it trickle through his fingers, smiling at the memory of the   
child-like saiyan with his simplicity for life, and his genius for fighting.  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"Well, Grandpa always had this way about him. You could never stay mad at him,   
no matter what he'd done. I mean, you felt good to know he called you friend.   
Felt like you mattered in the world when you were around him, and when you   
weren't, felt like you were on the outside looking in, on a world you didn't   
belong to, no matter how much you wanted to. Felt oddly full when he sat at a   
table devouring everything in sight that didn't breathe...Hell, even Vegeta   
lightened up when Grandpa was still around."  
  
Trunks had laughed. "Yeah...Dad just hasn't been the same since Goku left..."   
  
She'd gotten quiet, too busy trying to stuff her emotions back into the little   
box she kept inside, to speak. He'd kept his eyes on the star, but watched her   
just the same as she pushed herself up and hugged her knees. "But your dad has   
that presence, Goten too. Hell, you have it when you're not trying to belittle   
me like you always do." She'd blushed, but seemed to have finished beating her   
emotions back to where she liked to keep them, and he'd smiled at her as she   
smiled back. "I think it has something to do with that goofy-assed grin that   
runs in your family."  
  
Oh, what'd he give to see that "goofy-assed grin" when he took her home.  
  
Gohan'd be too busy throttling him and beating him into the ground to smile.  
  
Pan had wrinkled her nose and thrown a handful of sand at the back of his head.  
"Better then that 'I-am-God' smirk that runs in yours!" she'd retaliated.  
  
Laughing, he'd opened his big mouth a bit too far. "If we ever had kids we'd   
have moronically smirking clown gods seeking a good fight and country to rule."  
  
But all she'd said, apparently not thinking anymore then he had, was, "Then we'd   
better not have that many kids," and laid back in the sand, staring up at the   
star she'd dubbed as her grandfather's.  
  
They'd fallen into an awkward and yet comfortable silence and he'd laid back as   
well, counting the stars.  
  
Pan shivered, burrowing against him as a cold breeze blew the spray from the   
tide over them. Trunks pulled her closer, as much for her need for warmth as   
his need to know Gohan wasn't going to incinerate his head.  
  
He honestly hadn't meant to, but she'd just been lying there, staring up at the   
stars...he'd never seen her so beautiful-let alone anyone else-in all his life.   
he wasn't aware of what he was doing until it was too late to stop himself.  
  
"Panny? Have you ever felt completely lost, like half of you was taken away and   
held for ransom?"  
  
One corner of her mouth had curled up into a half smile. "Yeah, I've felt like   
that for a while." She'd turned her head to look hat him, her eyes probing his   
tan face, wondering what had gotten into him to turn his mood so somber. "What   
about you? You ever get that feeling?"  
  
"It's been there for the last four years, but it's gone now," he'd mumbled   
quietly, his words registering in his brain the second the last had left his   
mouth.  
  
Pan had been quiet for a few minutes, as Trunks had lain there, and then,   
stifling a giggle, she'd propped herself up on her elbows and smiled down at   
him. "That's odd...didn't I leave four years ago?"  
  
"Yes," he'd replied automatically, too busy with giving himself a mental   
thrashing to notice she was deepening the pit.  
  
"And didn't I just get back?"  
  
Realization dawned on him, and a crimson blush spread across his face and down   
his neck, his ears burned as if the devil were pulling them from his head.   
  
Shoving his heart back into his chest, where it beat loudly enough to wake the   
dead, he found his calm and casually answered her question with a question of   
his own. "Point being?"  
  
She'd leaned down, her nose pressed against his, one of her favorite games back   
when he'd still baby-sat her. But this was no ordinary staring contest. "You   
know what I think, Trunks?" she'd whispered, her eyelashes batting gently   
against his own, the palms of her hands digging painfully into his chest.  
  
His heart flip-flopped into his chest, climbing into his throat, pounding loud   
enough for her to hear. Sweet Dende, if she couldn't hear it, she was deaf.   
She wouldn't need saiyan hearing to hear it.  
  
"What?" he'd croaked, his voice husky as he forced his heart back into his   
chest.  
  
"I think you like me, Trunks."  
  
She'd said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, so...hopefully, that it was almost   
as if she was begging him to tell her "Yes, I do." And his heart happily   
settled back into his chest, but it still pounded as loud as it could, the   
pounds echoing in his chest. Smirking the smirk that he'd inherited from his   
father, he'd pushed himself up onto his elbows, then the palms of his hands,   
keeping his eyes locked on hers, his forehead and nose pressed against her own.  
Her eyes grew wide, and blinked furiously, a pink tint creeping across her face.  
  
She'd reacted exactly as he'd hoped she would; his smirk remained as he looked   
through his lavender bangs into her midnight blue eyes as they shone brightly   
with their own stars, their own inner light.  
  
"And you know what I think, Miss Son?"  
  
She'd swallowed tightly, her voice thick.  
  
"What?" she'd croaked out, her beautiful voice breathy and light.  
  
"I think you want me to."  
  
Her cheeks had flamed into a furious blush that raced down her neck and over her   
ears, that seemed to warm his own face. She'd dropped her eyes, inadvertently   
looking has his chest, her face flaming even more.  
  
Trunks sighed as Pan shifted in his arms, her bare feet tickling his ankles.  
  
Gohan was going to make his life as difficult, and as painful, as if could   
physically be. Trunks would be lucky if Gohan killed him. Gohan was   
practically a genius, and would undoubtedly break every bone in his body, in the   
most painful order possible, and then keep him alive so that he could heal-and   
so that he could do something equally as painful.  
  
Like get his own father involved.  
  
He shuddered, and Pan shifted again, drawing his attention back to her. He   
smiled at the rush that accompanied the memory that swept over him as she smiled   
at her dreams.  
  
After she'd moved into a full on blush such as should have make her head   
explode, Trunks's smirk had grown warmer, but hadn't left his lips. With his   
fingers, he'd stroked the underside of her chin. She'd brought her eyes back up   
to meet his.  
  
As his hand slid along the side of her neck and settled in the warm spot beneath   
her hair and at the base of her skull, the world had dropped completely from   
sight as they both closed their eyes and let their lips meet.  
  
It wasn't the most passionate kiss, or the deepest, or the sweetest, that he had   
ever known. It was simple. His lips didn't stray to other regions of her face,   
they stayed on hers, gently caressing her soft skin, as she began to kiss him   
back.  
  
His hands hadn't roamed about her body. He kept himself propped up with one   
hand, kept the other at the nape of her neck, his fingers lost in her hair,   
massaging the back of her scalp. He sensed her hesitate and move with jerky-  
yet-smooth starts and stops before finally wrapping her arms around him,   
interlocking her fingers behind his neck.  
  
Had Gohan seen them then, Trunks would have died instantaneously.  
  
Trunks wished Gohan had found them and seen them like that. Anything was   
preferable to the slow and agonizing death that lay ahead of him now.  
  
Gohan would probably peel off his skin, layer by layer, using a plastic spoon.  
Besides, if Gohan had found them like that, at least Trunks would have died   
happy.  
  
The kiss had ended, and they shyly pulled away from each other, flushing like   
children, before Trunks had smiled and traced her jaw with his fingers. She'd   
taken his hand and kissed the back of it, then sat there, holding his hand in   
her lap, tracing the tiny scars left there from hard lessons in learning how to   
manipulate ki, her fingers flitting gently over the calluses from typing and   
paperwork, from fighting his entire life.  
  
Trunks had laid back into the dune, sliding back-slowly so that he wouldn't   
frighten her-until his hand no longer supported him. Then, he'd pulled her down   
next to him, and she'd snuggled into his arms.  
  
Gohan was going to skin him and then fry him a new skin with his ki.  
  
Trunks took both hands and raked them through his lavender locks, his movements   
jerky and stressed, his cobalt blue eyes grey and cloudy with fear and worry.  
  
A few hours ago, any relationship with Pan just felt wrong. He was thirteen,   
fourteen years older then her, she was almost young enough to be his own   
daughter. Hell, he'd baby-sat her for Dende's sake!  
  
And yet, now, after what had transpired since he'd invited her to go to dinner   
with him, it felt so right. So right.  
  
There was no denying that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life   
with her.  
  
Something Gohan would not like to hear.  
  
Trunks looked down at Pan as she shivered against him.  
  
Well, maybe he would like to hear it, rather then assume that Trunks had   
reverted back to his old womanizing, man-whore ways. But he'd still kill him.  
  
He reached down, sweeping a stray strand of hair out of her face.  
  
If he went through with it, stayed with Pan and told Gohan that he loved her and   
wanted to see her romantically, possibly marry her after a few months if she'd   
allow him, Gohan would skin and kill him.  
  
But if he denied it all, chickened out and ran away, Gohan would not only take a   
long time in breaking and killing him, he'd take a lifetime to do it.  
  
Either way, Gohan would kill him, he died, and it'd be painful-for him alone-in   
the doing.  
  
Pan yawned as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close once more,   
assuring himself that he was still currently alive, and wishing that he had   
thought harder then he had before kissing her.  
  
Pan shifted again, sensing his uneasiness. She really was beautiful; he really   
did love her.  
  
Gohan couldn't be too mad though...while he would be mad enough to kill him, he   
couldn't really be mad enough to actually kill him, could he? Trunks had only   
kissed her, he hadn't ever kissed her twice. They'd just laid and stared at the   
stars, just enjoying the other's presence and warmth.  
  
He'd only kissed her....  
  
Trunks whimpered again and began to pray to Dende that Gohan nor kill him.  
  
Gohan was going to have his head on a stick.  



End file.
